


All My Faith in You

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Take That
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark gets a second chance.</p><p>This looks like a death story in the beginning, but it's not.  Promise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Faith in You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to halotolerant for the awesome medical consult, m. butterfly to her usual impeccable edit, and soundofthesurf for being my very favourite first reader.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Jason said. It wasn't the first time he'd said it. It was a sentiment he'd repeated, persistently, since they'd started planning this tour. Since Mark had told them what he wanted to do.

He could be stubborn, they'd all known that the first time 'round. But since they'd come back together, since they'd discovered people did still care about their music, did still want to see them, he'd uncovered a depth of stubbornness that astounded even him. He'd teamed up with Jason to insist that Nigel couldn't be involved this time. He'd sat down with Gary to insist they all work as equals. And when it had come to arrange the European leg of their comeback tour, he'd been adamant that they include this city, this venue, this hotel.

None of them had understood why he wanted to come to Vienna. Gary had gone white and looked quickly down at the floor when he'd brought it up the first time. Howard had left the room and locked himself in the loo, coming back twenty minutes later with red eyes and blotchy skin that none of them dared mention. Only Jason had looked calmly at him and said, for the first of hundreds of times, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Mark had said then what he said now: "It may not be a good idea, but it's something I have to do."

"You keep saying that, you keep telling yourself that, but do you really have to do this?" It was the closest to hysterical that Mark had ever seen Jason. "You're just going to stir it all up again, open the scar so that it never heals."

"It never has healed," Mark said, his voice quiet. "That's what you've never understood. It's not a scar, it's an open wound. It hurts as much today as it did ten years ago."

"All the more reason not to stay here." Jason's gaze flicked around the lobby they were standing in as if he were expecting an ambush, and not just from a stray paparazzi.. "You don't prod an open wound. You leave it alone."

"I need to find closure, Jason. I think maybe this will help."

"I doubt it." Jason glanced over to the reception desk, where Gary and Howard were getting their keys, watched over by their two security men.. "And it certainly isn't going to help the rest of us. Howard's looked like he's going to throw up since the plane landed. And Paul doesn't look much better."

"Then the rest of you should stay somewhere else."

"And leave you here alone?" Jason shook his head. "Not a chance."

Anything Mark might have said in response was lost as Gary and Howard approached them.

"They've given us the same rooms as last time," Gary said, looking none too pleased about the fact. He passed Jason his key card, and then turned to Mark. "I can still get them to change your room, Markie. We've got the whole floor. You don't have to stay there."

"I want to," Mark said, and then eased the key card out of Gary's grip.

They travelled up to their floor in silence, Mark staring straight ahead, Gary and Jason watching the floor indicator, and Howard with his eyes firmly on his shoes. When they reached the floor they'd reserved, Mark walked down the hall, put his card in the lock, and opened the door to the room he hadn't seen in ten years.

He'd woken up that morning to the sounds of sirens and voices yelling in German and a knock at the door of his hotel room.

He'd stumbled out of bed, not quite awake enough to wonder who was mad enough to wake him so soon after last night's concert, only to discover Howard and Jason at the door, with Gary behind them.

"What the hell…" he'd started to say, and then he saw the looks on their faces. He'd never seen any of them look like that before, worried and grief-stricken and sick.

"It's Rob," Howard had blurted out, his voice cracking on their band mate's name.

"Rob?" Mark had felt the heat leeching out of his body, disappearing into the floor, had felt a cold, hard weight settling deep inside of him, a weight he could feel to this day. "What about Rob?"

"He didn't wake up, Mark," Jason had said. Jay's eyes had been red rimmed, and his voice had trembled. "He just didn't wake up."

Mark had shaken his head and backed away from the door, only stopping when he ran into his bed. Howard and Jason had followed him inside, one on either side of him. They'd caught him as his legs gave out, caught him and put him on the bed and surrounded him.

"He couldn't just not wake up. Not our Rob." He'd thought it was stupid. A bad joke. He'd thought it couldn't be real.

"He did, Marko." Gary had stood in the hallway, and Mark had seen James and Paul hovering behind him, as if they could protect any of them from _this_. "The girl he was with came and got Paul, but it was too late. They think it might have been drugs. Or too much vodka. Or-"

"Don't!" Mark had shouted, putting his hands over his ears. He hadn't wanted to hear any more. He _couldn't_ have heard any more. He'd just kept thinking that it wasn't possible, that Rob couldn't be…he just couldn't.

He'd curled in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. As he'd wept, Jason had rubbed his back, and Howard had held his hand, but he'd taken no comfort from them. All he'd known was that he hurt.

They'd cancelled the remaining European dates, of course. They'd all been devastated. Mark still didn't remember how they'd got back to England, and he wasn't sure how he'd made it through Rob's funeral.

But somehow Nigel had cajoled and badgered and bullied them until they agreed to play the English dates at least. Mark had gone from inconsolable to completely numb, and he knew he'd only made it through the rehearsals and the tour dates by crawling into a bottle he hadn't managed to crawl out of for three years afterwards. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since, not a glass of wine, not even a half pint of lager.

Now, here he was, standing in the threshold not of the room where Howard and Jason had held him, but the room where Rob had died.

It was an ordinary hotel room as five star hotels went. The furniture had been changed, but there was still a sitting room, still a bar, still the loo off to the right. And there was a bed. It wasn't the bed they'd found Rob in--Mark honestly hoped that piece of furniture had been taken out and burned--but it was in the same place.

His suitcases were sitting in a corner, waiting for him, but all he could do was stand here, overwhelmed by his memories.

He jumped, startled, as there was a quiet tap on the doorframe behind him.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked when he turned.

 _No_ , Mark thought. _I haven't been okay in ten years_. But he didn't say any of that, only nodded and said, "I'll be fine, Jason."

"Howard and I are going down to the restaurant. Thought we'd have a late dinner. Do you want to come?"

"I'm just going to order room service and turn in early."

"Okay. Remember, we're due at the Stadthalle by three tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll be there."

"You take care of yourself, Markie," Jason said, and gave him a quick hug. Then he was gone and Mark was alone once again.

He unpacked clothes and toiletries, and then ordered pasta and a salad to the room. He couldn't eat a bite, just pushed lettuce and penne around the plate and then left it out in the hallway for the staff to deal with.

He opened the mini-bar, looking longingly at the bottles of wine, even as he knew that wasn't the answer. He'd lost more time than he liked to consider to booze after Rob was gone, but he'd finally realized that he had to stop, unless he wanted to die like Rob had.

Finally, he could avoid it no longer. He stripped down to his boxer shorts and slipped into the bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel some remnant of Rob, some part of him still remaining in this room, but there was nothing but the soft shushing of the heating ducts and the muted sounds of someone talking several rooms over.

He wondered if Jason was right and he had been mad to come here. But he knew, absolutely _knew_ that he was meant to be here, that there was a reason for him to be here. That he had to be here for himself and Rob both.

He should have been here that night, not some girl Rob had picked up in the hotel bar. Rob had asked him to come, but he'd already been well into a bottle of vodka by that point and Mark had been tired and hadn't wanted to deal with a drunken Rob, so he'd begged off. And then next thing he knew, Rob was dead.

He should have been here. He could think of nothing but that as he stared at the ceiling. He should have said something, should have done something, should have saved Rob.

But he hadn't been here and he hadn't said anything and hadn't done anything and Rob was ten years dead.

Mark clutched a pillow to his chest and rolled over onto his side and finally fell asleep.

* * *

  
He woke up to a room flooded in light.

"Fucking hell," he moaned as he pulled a pillow over his head. He hadn't left the curtains open, he was sure of it. None of them were stupid enough to do that. Even now there were fans hanging about on the street in front of the hotel. And it was meant to be a miserable rainy day today, anyway. Not bright and sunny. Not like it had been the last time he was here, when the brilliance of the weather had somehow made his misery even worse.

He eased the pillow away from his face and found that yes, the curtains were open. It must have been a maid, though any maid would have had to go through security, and he doubted James or Paul would have let anyone disturb him. Not here. Not today.

He threw back the covers and got up to close the curtains. When he'd stopped the flow of light into the room, he turned around and saw what he hadn't when he'd been stumbling half blind to the window: the room had changed.

The bed, the sofa, the mini-bar, none of it looked the way it had last night. In fact, it all looked much like it had when they'd been here ten years ago. Which was impossible. A place this swank changed their décor as often as they could manage. There was no way they'd have left it the same for ten years.

As he stood there, staring, trying to work out what the hell was going on, he realized he could hear noises coming from the toilet. Noises that sounded suspiciously like someone brushing their teeth.

"Who's there?" he asked, wondering if some mad fan had somehow made it past their security and was currently washing up in his toilet.

"I should be the one asking that," a male voice said from behind the door. There was the sound of one last spit, and then the door crashed open. "After all, you're in _my_ room, Markie."

And there he was, Rob. Robbie Fucking Williams, hair dyed an entirely unnatural blond, wearing nothing more than a cheeky smile and a towel around his waist, and looking the same age as he'd been the last time Mark had seen him alive.

"Rob?" Mark managed to croak out, and then as if he'd seen too much to cope with, he felt his eyes roll back in his head and felt the floor come up to meet him before he felt nothing at all.

* * *

  
"Markie." Someone shook his shoulder, lightly, and he turned away from the touch.

"Wake up, Mark." That sounded like Howard. "You're scaring Jason."

"I'm not scared." That was definitely Jason.

"Jason." Mark turned onto his side and fought to open his eyes. "I had the weirdest dream."

"Well, it's over now," Howard said. "Come on, Mark. Time to wake up."

Mark blinked and opened his eyes and found Jason leaning over him.

"Why'd you shave, Jay?" Mark asked.

"What, you want me to grow the goatee again?"

"Goatee?" Mark looked closer and realized that it wasn't just the fact that Jason was clean-shaven that was wrong. His hair was the same length, but sleeker somehow, and his face was fresh and unlined. He looked…younger.

"Don't encourage him, Mark. I'm the only one allowed to have a goatee now. Nigel's said."

Nigel? Mark looked up and there was Howard standing over him, not only with a goatee but with his dreads and a ring in his eyebrow.

"He never did." Jason came back.

"He might have done."

Mark let the two of them bicker over him while he tried to calm the panic that was flooding through his system. This was impossible. Im-fucking-possible. He sat up and put his head in his hands, so he didn't see the next person to enter the room.

"Is Markie okay?"

Mark's head shot up at that voice. Rob. It was Rob, now wearing jeans and an English football jersey. He was alive. He really _was_.

"Rob!" Mark ignored the pounding in his head and the fluttering in his stomach and launched himself at Rob. He wrapped his arms and legs around Rob, and buried his face in Rob's shoulder, trying desperately not to cry.

Rob surrounded him with arms that were stronger than Mark remembered.

"You're here," he said into Rob's shoulder. "You're actually here."

"'Course I'm here," Rob said, sounding equal parts amused and concerned. "It's my room. Where else would I be?"

Mark couldn't answer that. Not without sounding like the madman he clearly was. So instead he just held on tighter to his lost friend.

"Um, Mark," Rob finally said, his voice sounding strained. "You may be a little 'un, but you weigh a bloody ton."

"I'm sorry," Mark said, even though he wasn't sorry at all. But he did unwind himself from Rob, even as he kept one hand on Rob's arm.

"'S'okay." Rob threw an arm easily around his shoulders. "Are you sure you're alright? Didn't hit your head? That can really rattle your brains." Rob's free hand drifted to the scar on his scalp. "I should know."

"You don't have any brains to rattle," Howard said. "Not like Mark." Howard reached out and ruffled his hair. "Are you really okay, Mark? Should we call a doctor?"

"No!" Mark squeaked out, before he took a breath and regained his composure. "No," he repeatedly more calmly. "I'm fine. Just had a bit of a turn, is all. Too much time on the road."

"You're not eating enough," Jason said, poking him lightly in the ribs. "You're too skinny by far."

"You're one to talk," Howard said.

Before they got started bickering again, Mark reluctantly pulled away from Rob and stepped between them.

"Where are we, by the way? I've totally lost track." He hoped the question didn't sound too suspicious. After all, there had been times when he really hadn't known what city they'd landed in.

"Vienna," Jason said.

" _Wiener_ ," Howard said with a daft grin.

"It's _Wien_ , you silly git." Jason gave Howard a cuff on the head. "And you're not even saying it right."

"You say it your way; I'll say it mine."

"And what's the date?" That was more of a risk. He might not have known the date, back in the day, but he also wouldn't have cared. They'd had people to remember those sorts of details for them, after all. They'd had Nigel.

"I dunno," Howard said, shrugging.

"April 15." Of course it was Jason who knew the date.

"1995?" Mark blurted out before he realized that it was a truly odd question.

"'Course it's 1995," Howard said with a laugh. "What did you think it was? 2005?"

Mark joined in the laughter with the others, even as he felt sick. April 15, 1995. Tonight they'd play the Stadthalle, and Rob would want to party, and Mark wouldn't, and tomorrow he'd wake up to find that Rob was dead.

Not this time. He wasn't going to let it happen this time.

Maybe this was why it had all happened. Why he'd felt the need to stay at this hotel, why he'd been drawn to Rob's old room. He was being given a second chance, a chance to make everything right. A chance to save Rob.

He clutched at Rob's t-shirt as Jason and Howard drifted out the door and back to their own rooms. When they were gone, Rob gave his shoulder a squeeze and then looked closely at him.

"Are you okay, Mark? I mean, really." There was nothing of Rob's usual cheeky chappy persona in his expression, only real concern.

"I really am."

"Maybe you should go back to your room. Get some proper sleep. Nige wants us at the arena in a few hours and then it'll be all the usual shit. Meet and greets, sound check, wardrobe, make up. The lot. I wouldn't want you to crumple up when we're talking to some boring old Austrian record execs. Or on stage."

"Can I stay here?" Mark asked. Now that he had him back, he was reluctant to be parted from Rob, even for a few hours. "I think I'll sleep better here."

"Your room's exactly the same," Rob said, clearly giving him an out.

"You let me stay here last night."

"You didn't give me any alternative last night, if you'll remember. You came over for a chat when we got in, had some wine and passed out on the bed."

Mark had forgotten all about that. He wondered if that was the last time he'd been happy, sleeping in Rob's bed. Except he knew he hadn't been happy even then, that it was starting to unwind for all of them.

"It was either keep you here or toss you out in the hall," Rob continued. "I reckoned you wouldn't want to be tossed out in the hall."

"I'm sure James would have seen I got back to my room."

"It'd break James' back, lugging you around."

"Can I stay?" Mark didn't want to sound desperate, but he knew he was. Rob didn't say anything for the longest time, just stared at him, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle he'd only realized was sitting right in front of him. Finally, he gave Mark a push towards the bed.

"Go on, then. Lie down." Rob waited until Mark had done just that, and then crawled into the bed beside him and wrapped an arm around Mark's chest. "Sometimes I don't know which of us needs a keeper more, you or me," he said so softly that Mark almost didn't hear him.

Mark didn't respond, just held Rob's arm tightly and let his eyes drift closed.

* * *

  
Mark woke up two hours later, with Rob draped around him like a too-warm octopus. Not that he minded. He stayed there, still, for a few minutes, soaking up the feeling of Rob's warmth surrounding him, the soft sound of Rob's breath on his neck. He'd never thought he'd have the chance for this again, to be held by Rob. There'd never been anyone quite like Rob.

There'd been girls, of course. More girls than any of them could keep track of. But the girls hadn't meant anything to Mark. The other boys had meant more. And Rob had meant most of all. He and Rob had looked out for each other, looked after each other. It had, Mark could see now, been love at first sight, from his side at least, even if they'd never done anything more than cuddle and kiss. He wondered now if it would have made things better if they'd been properly involved back then, or infinitely worse.

He sighed and shifted, and that was enough to wake Rob.

"What time is it?" Rob asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Nearly two," Mark said, after a quick glance at the clock radio beside him.

"Christ." Rob sat up like a shot. "We've got to get going. Nigel wanted us ready to go by two."

"He'll have to fucking wait, won't he?" Mark was long done with Nigel Martin Smith. He wasn't a scared kid anymore, jumping whenever Nigel looked at him the wrong way.

"Jesus, Markie," Rob said, his eyes wide and terrified. "Don't ever say that to his face. He'll have your bollocks."

"It was just a joke," Mark backtracked. Best not to stir things up. This wasn't the battle he was meant to be fighting. He was here to stop Rob dying, not to start a revolution against Nigel.

"Don't joke like that. And you should get back to your own room and get ready. I'll meet you out in the hall in a few minutes."

"Alright, Rob." Mark gave Rob a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you soon."

Mark made his way to his room without seeing anyone else. The room was as he remembered it, his suitcases were on the luggage racks, his favourite clothes were unpacked and hung in the wardrobe. He shed what he was wearing, grabbed a shirt and trousers from the wardrobe, and headed for the loo, meaning to quickly shower and meet Rob in the hall. He stopped in front of the mirror, astounded by what he saw.

The face reflected back at him was impossibly young. There were no lines on it, no signs of the years yet to come, of the grief that was awaiting him. It was like looking at a stranger.

"You poor bastard," he said to his reflection. "You had no fucking idea what was coming, did you?"

He shook his head and jumped into the shower.

Ten minutes later, he was out in the hallway. He nodded hello to Jason, who was already there and waiting, and to Gary, who joined them soon after. Howard was next, and he made straight for Jason's side. In spite of his obvious terror of being late for Nigel, Rob was dead last.

And then Nigel arrived.

Within seconds, he started cutting down everyone of them. Even Gary. He honed in mercilessly on insecurities—Jason's singing voice; Gary's dancing—or cast doubt on strengths—Howard's harmonies; Mark's smile. And he saved his special bile for Rob.

"Robbie, try to keep to the script at least some of the time, would you? At least pretend you paid attention in rehearsals."

Mark watched as Jason flinched, Howard looked away, and Gary tried to act nonchalant and failed. He felt his own heart rate speed, felt the sweat break out on his palms, as Nigel pointed out how non-essential he was to the band. And he saw the spark go out of Rob's eyes entirely.

It was amazing, Mark reflected, how Nigel had a special talent for making them all feel like absolute shite. And even more amazing that they'd all let him get away with it for so long.

Bollockings delivered, Nigel smiled his infuriating smile and led them all to the lift and out of the hotel. Mark made sure he was next to Rob and touched him lightly on the elbow.

"Don't listen to him, Rob," he whispered, after making sure Nigel was nowhere near. "You're brilliant on stage."

"Nice of you to say, Markie, but I'm not." Rob's eyes had a faraway stare that Mark didn't like one bit. Why hadn't he seen all this before? Why hadn't any of them?

"'Course you are, you pillock." He poked Rob in the ribs. "You've got real talent. Not like me. I've got nothing but a cheeky grin to get by on."

They were in the back corridors of the hotel by then, at the back of the pack. Rob grabbed his arm so hard it was almost painful and pulled him up short while the others carried on.

"Don't you think that, Mark. Don't you ever let him make you think that." Rob's expression had gone from distracted to furious. Mark stopped and caught his breath, not sure what to say. He was meant to be protecting Rob, not the other way 'round. But before he could say anything, Paul dropped back to nudge them both forward.

"No hanging back, boys," Paul said. "It'll be my bollocks if a ravening pack of fans make off with the pair of you."

"We wouldn't go down without a fight," Rob said, even as he sped up and pulled Mark with him.

* * *

  
Once they arrived at the arena, it was as Rob predicted, all the usual shit. There was a boring meet and greet with the local record company execs. There was a far less boring meet and greet with local fans who'd won some radio contest or other. Then there was hair and makeup and costumes to deal with, as well as Skippy wiring them up with their radio packs and inner ears.

Mark barely took any of it in.

He spent all the time leading up to the actual show keeping an eye on Rob. And he was all too aware that Rob, Howard and Jason were spending all their time keeping an eye on him.

 _It's not me!_ he wanted to yell at Howard and Jay. _I'm not the one who's going to OD tonight. I'm not the one who's going to die._ But he couldn't say any of that and still sound sane. So he put up with their concern and went through the motions. He smiled through the meet and greets, put up with being primped for the show, all while watching who Rob talked to, who caught his eye, watching for the person might be about to pass him the cocaine that was going to kill him tonight.

By the time they took to the stage, Mark was a wreck, and there was still the show to get through.

He'd forgotten how uncomfortable the bloody goggles were at the start, and barely made it through the opening number without stumbling over his own feet. For the first few songs, he was terrified he was going to forget a lyric or falter on a dance move.

But then something happened. The rhythm of the show started infecting him and it all started to come back. It may have been ten years since he'd done these moves, but his younger self had done this just a few days ago, and this body knew exactly what was expected of it.

He started to enjoy himself. He danced his heart out while Rob sang Everything Changes. He flirted with Jason during Pray. He sang at the top of his lungs with Howard every chance he got. And near the end, when they were doing Give Good Feeling and it came time to run and jump at Rob, he grabbed his friend and tackled him to the floor, laughing as Rob gave him a hug and then pulled him to his feet.

It was pure joy out there on the stage, with just the five of them and their band and their dancers. It was what it always should have been. By the time they took their final bows and made the run through the bowels of the stadium for the cars, Mark was wondering why memories of this time had been so fraught for him, why he didn't remember _this_ , the performing, the camaraderie, more fondly.

But Nigel was waiting in the car he tumbled into, with Rob and Paul behind him, and he destroyed Mark's elated mood in mere seconds.

"You were rubbish, tonight, Mark," Nigel said with a sneer. "I hope you do better than that in Italy."

Mark felt like he'd been slapped. In an instant he was once again that insecure kid he'd been back then, the one who was convinced he didn't deserve what he had, who knew he would only be tolerated so long as he was cute and smiley and did what he was told. He bit his lip and looked down and wished he could disappear from the car.

"Markie was alright," Rob said immediately, and Mark felt his friend's arm go around him in support.

"I wouldn't say anything if I were you, Rob. You weren't much better."

Mark could feel the muscles in Rob's arms tense, could feel his body tremble. He put his hand over Rob's, but he still couldn't look up. Fucking Nigel, always cutting them down.

The rest of the blessedly short ride back to the hotel was spent in uncomfortable silence, with Nigel ignoring them, Rob clutching his arm, and Paul looking nervously between them all.

Mark kept his eyes firmly on the floor of the car, even as he felt anger rising to take the place of his anxiety. He wanted nothing more than to give Nigel the bollocking of his life, but he knew how well that would go over. Little Markie having the bottle to take on Mr Nigel Martin Smith? The bastard would laugh in his face. So he kept his mouth shut and ached to bolt from the car. As soon as they pulled up to the back loading dock of the hotel, he legged it, not waiting for any of them.

"Don't forget, there's an after party in the bar," Nigel called after them. "You all need to make an appearance."

An after party, at the royal behest of Nigel. Fuck. Mark could think of nothing he'd rather do less.

He ran through the hotel corridors on autopilot, hardly even aware of Rob beside him or the rest of the boys behind him. He was first to the door of his room, and barely remembered to thank Paul as he opened the door and handed him the key. He tore off his costume and tossed it on the floor, for once not caring that he was letting it get wrinkled and making more work for their dressers.

He shot a look at the mini-bar once again, and was struck by an overwhelming need to get stuck into the wine and not stop until he was well and truly drunk. Only the memory of where that would lead him and how long it would take to shed that bloody addiction once again stopped him from opening the first bottle.

He pulled on a tracksuit and paced the room barefoot, trying to calm himself, trying to shake the feelings of insecurity and worthlessness that Nigel seemed to be able to conjure up in him so effortlessly.

The bastard knew what he was doing, he had to. Divide and conquer. Isolate each one of them, tear them down so none of them had an ounce of confidence, and then he could walk all over the five of them. Him and Jason and Howard and Gary and Rob.

Rob.

Shit.

He'd been so wrapped up in his own misery, he'd forgotten what he was really meant to do. He pulled on his trainers with no socks and ran out into the hall and down to Rob's room. He knocked on the door, and when there was no answer he pounded on it, willing Rob to answer, willing him to still be in his room. But there was no answer, no response, not until Jason popped his head out of the door across the hall.

"Christ, Markie, keep it down, would you?" Jason was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and had the look of someone who'd been woken up. He was clearly ignoring Nigel's orders to attend the after party.

"Do you know where Rob is?" Mark asked, trying not to give in to the panic that was speeding up his breathing and making his hands shake.

"I don't know. He's probably gone down to the party."

"Shit," Mark said, and was already running to the lift.

"You're never going dressed like that," Jason yelled down the hall after him. "Nigel will have ya."

Mark ignored him and hit the lift button until the doors opened. He tapped his foot nervously until the lift doors opened and spat him out on the ground floor, then ran through the lobby, dodging hotel staff and patrons and the odd fan who'd managed to sneak in past the cordon the hotel had thrown up outside the front door.

He could hear the party before he could see it, and turned the corner to see the crowds spilling out of the hotel bar. Stylish men in suits and chic women in designer dresses and high heels and glossy makeup stared at him as he ran into the bar. He could hear the mutters his passing caused, here the occasional party-goer shout out a "Mark!" as he ran by, but he didn't pay attention to any of them. There was only one person he wanted to see, and he was nowhere to be found.

He did find Howard, sandwiched between two fit-looking girls in a corner booth. No wonder Jason had called it an early night.

"Have you seen Rob?" Mark asked him.

"He's not here?" Howard looked around the bar. "I saw him over on there, necking down vodka, as usual. He was with some girl."

"A girl?" He was going to fail, he could see that now. He hadn't been brought back to save Rob. He'd been brought back to find out that he couldn't save him. That it was impossible. "What did she look like?" Mark tried to remember what Paul had said about the girl who'd been with Rob that night. This night.

"I don't know, Mark. She was a girl. Long hair. Cute." Howard frowned. "She seemed a bit weird, though."

"Weird?"

"Well, a bit high, really."

"Fuck." It was all going wrong, horribly wrong. Just like last time. Worse than last time, really. Because this time it wasn't going to catch him unawares. This time he was going to see it coming and he wasn't going to be able to stop it. The grief would hit him like a lorry on the M1 taking out a hedgehog. There wouldn't be enough of him left this time to make a decent grease spot.

He felt his breathing speed up, felt his pulse racing. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to slow down his body, slow down his mind so he could think. When he opened his eyes again, Howard was looking at him with concern.

"You're not going to pass out again, are you Markie?"

"No." Mark shook his head. "But we've got to find Rob. We have to find him now."

"He's with a girl. It's not as if he's taken off with some crazed axe murderer."

"He might as well have," Mark muttered.

"What?"

"We have to find him, Doug." Mark looked Howard in the eye and held his gaze, determined to make his friend see how important this was. "We have to do it soon."

Howard stared at him, and Mark could only imagine he was trying to decide if Mark had lost his mind. But he finally nodded and wriggled out from between the two girls who were looking increasingly put out at Mark for interrupting their pop star moment.

"Alright, then." Howard stood up. "Let's find Rob."

* * *

  
They started looking for Rob in the bar, sweeping through the throngs of people, keeping an eye out for a flash of that blond hair. Rob was nowhere to be found, but they did run across Gary, chatting up a girl at a corner table.

Mark hadn't talked much to Gary since he'd woken up back here, was it only this morning? Jason and Howard seemed to be Jason and Howard, no matter what time he was in, but Gary had changed so much that the differences were disconcerting.

They'd all been through so much in his present, grief and failure and humiliation and redemption. Gaz had fallen the furthest, but he also seemed to have risen the highest. In Mark's present, Gaz had become, with some nudging from him and Jason, a true leader. He was generous, considerate, and fierce in defence of them all.

 _This_ Gaz, though, was, as Rob had always called him, a bit of a cock. He ordered the rest of them around on everything from harmonies to what order they would take the stage. He was Nigel's golden-haired boy and his enforcer. Even when Nigel had given him a bollocking this afternoon, Gaz was clearly in their manager's pocket.

Gaz sparked up immediately when he saw them, and came over, slinging an arm around Howard's shoulder.

"What's up, boys?" he asked, shouting over the din from the party.

"We're looking for Rob," Howard answered. "Mark's worried about him."

"We have to find him, Gaz." Mark ignored his misgivings over sharing anything with this version of Gary, and tried to tap into the Gary he knew, the one who still blamed himself for Rob's death, as they all did, the one who'd done his best to make sure none of them was ever left behind again. "He's been acting a bit off. I'm afraid it's going to be Berlin all over again."

At the mention of Berlin, Howard clenched his jaw and Mark could see the emotional shutters come down behind Gary's eyes. They'd never talked about Berlin back in the day, about Rob nearly ODing, about Nigel becoming even more of a tyrant afterwards. It had been one of the many things they'd all ignored, one of the countless incidents put down between them to "lads having a good time." But that silence had been poisonous, had damaged them all and killed Rob, and Mark was fucked if he was going to put up with it this time around.

"It can't be that bad," Gary said, with a quick glance back at the girl sitting impatiently at the table waiting for his return.

"Do you want to risk that?" Mark responded. He stared at Gary, holding his gaze, daring him to help them, daring him to _care_.

They stood like that for what seemed like forever, but was probably only seconds, with Mark and Gary locked in silent combat as Howard shuffled uneasily beside them and the party whirled on noisily around them.

Finally Gary looked away and nodded.

"What are we waiting for?" he said, acting as though this was all his idea. "Let's go find the stupid git."

Mark could have hugged him. He settled for giving Gary a quick, friendly punch on the arm.

The three of them did another sweep through the bar, ignoring well-wishers and fans who tried to waylay them as they tried to find Rob.

They picked up more help as they went. James noticed them from where he'd been lurking on the edges of the party, and joined in the search. James recruited Paul when they went up to their floor to see if Rob had made it back to his room. (He hadn't.) They even knocked on Jason's door. He answered bleary eyed and narked off, but immediately agreed to help when he realized what was going on.

No one suggested getting Nigel, and for that Mark was grateful. He'd seen Nigel downstairs at the bar, holding court with the local record company people and throwing his weight around, and had steered their little group far away from him. As anxious as he was, he didn't think he could handle Nigel just now.

They covered their own floor, the bar, the restaurant, the meeting rooms, the lobby, then did it all again, and still there was no sign of Rob. Mark couldn't help but get more frantic as they went. He couldn't but help think he was going to fail. He was never going to be anything but a failure.

He felt an arm go around his shoulders as they stood in the lobby for the third time that evening, and looked up to see Jason, his eyes full of sympathy.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Markie. He's just having a laugh."

"No, he's not, Jason," Mark said, with absolutely no hope that Jay would believe him. "It sounds mad, and there's no way I should know this, but I'm sure he's in trouble."

Jason didn't say anything else, just gave him an inquiring look and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Gary was waving them all over to where he stood, and from his body language, Mark could tell he was firmly in take-charge mode.

"Rob's not in any of the obvious places, and assuming he's still in the hotel there are a lot of floors to search. So what I think is that we should split up. Howard and Jason, you take one tower." He turned to Mark. "James, Paul and Mark will take the other. I'll wait on our floor so I can let the rest of us know if Rob comes back on his own."

"C'mon, Mark," James said, with Paul hustling in front of him.

Mark didn't follow their two bodyguards immediately. Instead he went over to Gary and gave him a hug.

"Thanks, Gaz," he said softly into his band mate's ear. When he pulled back, Gary looked almost surprised at Mark's gratitude.

"You just go find him," Gary said as he gave him a swat. "I'll keep the home fires burning."

There was every chance they wouldn't find Rob in time, Mark knew. The odds that they'd happen to find him in the hotel were astronomical. But this time, at least they were doing something to stop the tragedy. In spite of the tension they'd all started to feel by this time, they'd all sided with Mark, even when there was no reason to do it but blind faith in their band mate. It made Mark proud of the lot of them.

It gave him hope.

Taking a deep breath, Mark ran to catch up with James and Paul.

* * *

  
It wasn't quite like searching for a needle in a haystack, Mark reflected as he made his way down yet another flight of stairs to yet another floor of the hotel. More like searching for a needle in hundreds of haystacks. Blindfolded.

He opened the door onto the floor and listened carefully for the sound of Rob's voice, for any hint of something going wrong before he started walking slowly forward.

When they'd started, Mark had quite seriously suggested knocking on every door in the hotel until they found Rob. James and Paul had pointed out that that would get them thrown out in very short order, and then they'd never find Rob. Instead, Mark would take one stairwell, James another, and Paul the lift. Mark and James would walk from the ends of the hall to the middle, listening for any signs of their wayward band member as they went, meeting Paul in the middle. Then it was back to the stairwells and lift, and down to the next floor to repeat it all again.

It would have been bloody boring, if Mark hadn't been overcome by the constant terror that he was going to miss something, that he was going to let Rob down.

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. and they'd covered perhaps half the floors of their tower, when Mark saw a look flash between James and Paul.

"What?" he asked, immediately defensive.

"It's not that we don't understand, Mark," Paul said.

"We've seen what's going on with Rob," James chipped in. "Maybe more than any of you."

"But this just seems…" Paul trailed off and looked helplessly at his colleague.

"Hopeless," finished James.

Mark felt the panic begin to swell inside him again, making his breathing come fast and drying out his mouth. But he couldn't afford the panic, and neither could Rob, so he took a deep breath and let it carefully out again before he spoke.

"I know I sound mad. And I know it's a slim hope that we'll find Rob. But we have to find him. That's the one sure thing I know. If we don't find him, we're going to lose him. Not in the future or in a few days. Tonight."

James and Paul shared a look again, and then to his relief, they both nodded.

"Alright, Mark," James said, giving him a pat on the back. "Let's find our Rob. Then I can give him a bollocking for keeping me up late tonight."

Their luck changed on the next floor.

Mark was half way to the bank of lifts when he heard something besides the snoring of businessmen or the muted chatter of some Austrian telly program. It sounded like a woman's voice. Or a girl's. Mark froze in place and listened carefully, trying to determine where the sound was coming from.

He started moving slowly back in the direction he'd come from, and found the voice getting louder and more frantic. He was nearly at the room he thought it was coming from when the door burst open and a very pretty, very high and nearly naked girl ran out of it and straight into his arms.

" _Er stirbt, oh mein Gott, er stirbt_ ," she said as she pulled at his hand. Mark didn't know German, but he did know fear, and this girl was afraid.

"Rob?" he asked. "Is it Robbie?"

"Robbie! _Ja_!" She pulled harder at his hand.

Mark resisted long enough to shout for James and Paul, and then ran into the room with the girl right behind him.

He hadn't seen Rob the last time, when they'd found him. Paul had, and so had Jason, but they'd all kept Mark from seeing what had become of his friend. Now he knew why.

Rob was naked, his skin grey and sweating, his eyes rolled back in his head. His back was arched like a bow that had been pulled too tightly, and his whole body was being convulsed by tremors. The sodden sheets were coiled around him, and he seemed to be fighting them as if they were a python wound around his body and squeezing the life from him.

"Christ." He shook the girl off and ran the few steps to Rob's side. "Stay with us, you stupid bastard," Mark said as he wrapped his arms around Rob and tried to calm the seizure that was wracking his body.

He dimly registered when James and Paul arrived in the room, and only later remembered hearing Paul shout into the phone that they needed an ambulance.

The seizure was terrifying. But worse was when Rob went limp in his arms.

"No," he whispered, as Paul drew him away from the bed and James immediately started doing CPR on his friend. An eternity seemed to pass, with the girl's sobbing, James' harsh breathing, and sirens in the distance the only sounds in the room.

There was a clatter at the door and then the paramedics arrived, breaking the stasis that had frozen everyone in the room.

"How long?" one of the paramedics asked James as his partner took over doing CPR.

"Less than two minutes," James said, and Mark thought that couldn't be right. That it had been forever since Rob had collapsed.

" _Gut_ ," the paramedic said, and then he was hooking Rob up to a defibrillator.

Outside of episodes of Casualty, Mark had never seen one of the machines used. He watched in horror as the paramedics stuck electrodes on Rob's chest and looked at the readout on the machine's screen. Mark knew nothing about medicine, but even he knew that wasn't what a heart rate was supposed to look like. The paramedics chattered quickly in German, then applied gel to the paddles and shocked Rob. Rob's heart rate changed into something Mark recognized as closer to normal, and the paramedics seemed satisfied, since they didn't repeat the process. One of them monitored Rob's heart while the other put a tube down his throat and an IV in his arm.

They quickly got Rob onto the gurney they'd brought, and then one of them readied Rob for the trip to the hospital while the other approached Mark.

"Your friend," the man said, gently. "Do you know what he took?"

"I wasn't here," Mark said as he shook his head. "I don't know."

"She was with him," Paul said, pointing to the sobbing girl, still huddled in a corner of the room. She'd managed to pull her clothes on, but she was as hysterical as she'd been from the start.

The paramedic nodded, and went over to talk to the girl. The two of them spoke for a minute, the girl crying and shaking her head, the paramedic putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and quietly encouraging her. As the seconds crawled by, Mark wanted nothing more than to go over and shake her until she admitted what poison Rob had taken.

Finally, she must have told the paramedic what he needed to know, because he nodded, and then came over to Mark and Paul.

"What was it?" Mark asked.

"Cocaine." The man frowned and looked over to where his colleague was strapping Rob to the gurney. "Your friend, I'm afraid he is not wise."

"Will he be alright?" Mark asked, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

"For now, yes. But if he continues like this…" The paramedic shrugged

Mark knew only too well what would happen if Rob continued down this path.

The paramedics began to roll Rob out of the room, and Mark found that he couldn't bear to be separated from him.

"I need to go with them," he told Paul.

He could see their bodyguard tense up, and feared he was going to fight him on this, but after a second he nodded and pushed him to follow.

"I'll go tell the others," James said.

"Wait," Mark said, grabbing James' arm before he could move. "Could you not tell Nigel? Not yet?"

"I have to tell him," James said, even as he put a gentle hand over Mark's. "We owe our pay packet to him, me and Paul." But then he hesitated, and Mark could see his resolve waver. "But I'll hold off as long as I can."

"Thank you," Mark said, his voice coming out as a croak.

"Don't thank me yet. Just you follow Rob." He pushed Mark towards the door. "And you," he said to Paul. "You look after the pair of them."

Paul nodded and then took Mark by the arm, and then they were following the paramedics and Rob to the lift and out of the hotel.

* * *

  
Thirty minutes. That was how long Mark had without the pleasure of Nigel's company.

Ten minutes it took them to get to the hospital.

The paramedics had let him and Paul ride in the ambulance with Rob, with strict instructions that they weren't to get in the way. They sat on the hard bench, Paul with his arm around Mark, the two of them trying not to fall off every time the ambulance turned. Mark never took his eyes off Rob the whole trip. He felt like if his attention slipped from Rob, even for a moment, then Rob might slip away from them all.

Ten minutes more they spent waiting for word about Rob.

They waited in a small private room an A&E nurse led them to.

"My little sister is a fan," she said, a pretty young woman with kind green eyes and a delicate accent. "She would want me to look after you. To make sure the newspapers don't find out."

"Thank you," Mark whispered.

The same nurse was the one who came back to tell them that the doctors were confident Rob would recover, but that he would need to be sedated overnight to prevent more seizures, and to be watched carefully for at least a day to make sure his heart didn't stop again.

"Can I see him?" Mark had asked.

The nurse had shaken her head and patted his arm. "Not until they find him a room. And then not until the doctor allows it."

Mark had nodded and tried to smile, but hadn't quite managed it. Instead, he'd blinked back the tears he could feel pricking his eyes.

"I will let you know when he is in a room, your Robbie," the nurse had said, and then she had disappeared back to the place where they were working to keep Rob alive.

Howard and Jason and Gary had arrived then, as he'd stood there, trying desperately not to cry while Paul patted his back. Howard and Jason immediately surrounded him, while Gary took Paul aside. Mark could hear their security guard tell Gaz what the nurse had said as Howard steered him over to a chair in the corner and Jason insisted that Rob would be fine. Mark desperately tried to believe him.

Ten minutes after that, Nigel arrived.

They heard Nige before they saw him, even through the closed door, demanding to see the person in charge, and asking if anyone knew just who he was, and how dare they treat him like that. A few moments later, he appeared in their little sanctuary, led there by a different nurse, one who seemed to be descended from the Valkyries, and who clearly was taking no rubbish from Nigel Martin Smith, and followed by an aggrieved-looking James.

"What the hell is going on?" Nigel demanded. "Rob collapses and you all seem to know about it, and none of you tell me? That's not fucking acceptable." He stared at them with a look of pure fury. "I want you all back at the hotel immediately. I'll deal with what needs to be done here, but you lot need to be on the plane to Milan in the morning. We've got two days of publicity to do there before the concert."

There was nothing in Nigel's bearing but the absolute confidence that his orders would be followed. And why would he doubt that, Mark asked himself. They'd always followed his orders, even when those orders were cruel and petty and demeaning. Even when they'd known in their guts that Nigel was wrong.

It was vintage Nigel, Mark reflected. Preserve Take That above all else and don't give a flying fuck who got hurt in the process. Mark looked at his friends, Jason turning white and looking like he was about to be sick, Howard chewing his lip and shrinking back behind Jason, and Gaz, his jaw clenched tight and his fingers moving in a nervous tattoo on his leg, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

"No," he said, quietly from where he sat between Howard and Jason.

"What?" Nigel's tone was a mixture of shock and affront, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"I said no, Nigel." Mark raised his voice this time, stood, and looked Nigel straight in the eye, something he'd never managed to do when he'd been a kid. "We're not going back to the hotel, and we're not going to Milan, and you're not dealing with anything."

"I'll have you out of the band, you little shit." Mark had seen Nigel angry before, it was practically his natural state of being, but he'd never seen him this outrageously furious. His face had gone red and there were veins popping out on his forehead.

"I don't care about the band," Mark said, and he didn't. In his own time, he'd been out of the band for ten years. It had been hard, it had been devastating, but he'd survived it. The threat held no fear for him. What he did fear was losing Rob again. That thought alone drove him forward. "I care about Rob. I care about Howard and Jason and Gary."

He stopped, took a deep breath, and rallied his thoughts, focusing his emotions, his anger and worry and misery. He took all the lessons he'd learned in the past ten years about loss and regret and doing what was right, and he used them.

"Rob's nearly just died, you bastard. If you try to patch him together and stick him on a stage to perform like a puppet for you, he _will_ die next time. Or the time after that. I'm not going to stand by and watch that happen. I'm not going to let you kill him."

"How are you going to stop me, you little twat?"

"I'll do whatever I have to. Up to and including telling the doctors here that you were the one who gave Rob the cocaine. I'm sure the Austrian police might find that interesting.. And if they don't care, I could always give an exclusive interview to The Sun."

"You wouldn't bloody dare."

"I would." Mark didn't yell or scream, but he put every ounce of conviction into his voice, into his body language. He made absolutely sure that Nigel knew his threat was anything but idle.

As he watched, the blood drained from Nigel's face. He wasn't sure which part of his threat had done it, the idea of criminal charges in a foreign country, or of a smear campaign conducted in the British gutter press. Whichever it was, he could see Nigel was taking it seriously.

But Nigel being Nigel, he didn't give up. He never gave up, not even against unspeakable odds. It was what had got them to the top of the charts, after all, Nigel's absolute refusal to ever give up. And it was what had made their lives an utter misery once they'd succeeded. This time, he turned to the others for his last appeal.

"What about the rest of you? Are you just going to stand here and let Mark do this? Let him tear apart what we worked for?"

Mark looked back at his band mates, his friends. They were staring at him as if he was an alien life form, as if they'd never seen him before. Jason's mouth was actually hanging open in shock, and Gary's eyes held a look of astonishment. Howard had stepped out from behind Jason and looked almost proud and determined, and he was the one who spoke first.

"You should fuck off, Nige."

Jason and Gary didn't say a word, but moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Howard, and James and Paul, bless them, flanked them all, protecting them as they always had.

Nigel's gaze flicked between each member of the band as if he were a caged creature looking for a means of escape and finding none. Then, with a final snarl, he turned on his heel and was gone.

There was a stunned silence in Nigel's wake, and Mark found himself being stared at by everyone in the room. Again, Howard was the first to speak.

"Fuckin' hell, Mark," he said, his tone part awe, part amused respect. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Mark opened his mouth to answer him, but he felt his hands begin to shake, felt the strength go out of his legs. Howard caught him before he went down and carried him over to the chair he'd abandoned when Nigel had arrived. Howard rubbed his back and James left to find him some water, while Jason held his hand tightly.

"Stay with us, Markie," Howard said. "I can't handle more than one of my mates in hospital at a time."

Mark started to laugh and cry all at once. It was too much, he was feeling too much: happy and scared, relieved and worried. As he buried his head in Howard's shoulder, he hoped he'd done enough.

He hoped he'd saved Robbie, and not just given him a reprieve.

* * *

  
The hospital had found a pleasant room for Rob on the coronary care ward, or as pleasant as a room could be when it was full of beeping and blinking medical equipment hooked up to a friend, the person you loved best in the world.

It was just after dawn when the Valkyrie nurse came to tell them that Rob was stable and they were moving him to a room, and nearly lunch time when she came back to tell them that Rob was to be allowed one visitor. Mark hung back, thinking that maybe Howard would be the best person for the job, or Jason, but Gary grabbed Mark's arm and pushed him towards the Valkyrie. She smiled, an altogether alarming expression on a woman who towered over both Howard and Jason, and then escorted him to the pleasant room with the pleasant view and all the beeping and blinking machines. And Rob.

Rob looked diminished, lying in that bed, with tubes in his arms, and electrodes on his chest, and an oxygen mask on his face. Walking into that room, with the Valkyrie at his side, he suddenly remembered how it had felt to walk into Rob's wake ten years ago and see the empty shell of the boy he'd loved lying in that coffin, the spirit that had made him who he was so clearly flown. He froze where he stood, no longer seeing the room around him, but instead the funeral home in Stoke, with that horrible coffin in the centre of the room and Rob's mum weeping in a corner. He came back to the present when he felt the Valkyrie shaking his arm. He looked up to find her watching him with an expression that was equal parts concern and curiosity.

"I'm fine," Mark said, answering a question the Valkyrie hadn't asked, and knowing he sounded nothing of the sort.

"I know," said the Valkyrie. "And your friend will be fine too."

She left him alone, with instructions to call for a nurse immediately if Rob's heart rate faltered or if he had trouble breathing. He sat at Rob's bedside for the whole afternoon, watching Rob's chest rise and fall, and his eyes flutter behind his eyelids. He started every time the beeping of the heart monitor seemed to skip a beat, afraid that this was when Rob was going to be taken away from him again.

"When will he wake up?" Mark had asked one of the nurses who appeared at regular intervals to take Rob's temperature and blood pressure and to check on his IV, a matronly woman who reminded him of his mum, of all their mums.

"Soon," she'd said as she checked the readings on the machines surrounding Rob and adjusted the flow of liquids into his veins. "He will wake when his body is ready."

So Mark waited as the sun sank lower on the horizon and the light on the buildings outside began to take on a golden hue that he might have found beautiful if he hadn't been concentrating on the grey-faced, unconscious boy in the bed beside him.

Finally, as the sun disappeared entirely and the afternoon tipped irrevocably into dusk, Rob began to stir.

His hand moved first, clenching and unclenching as if he were grasping at something lost. Then he began to move his head, shifting the oxygen mask as he did.

Mark stood and moved in closer. He adjusted the oxygen mask and then took hold of Rob's hand, squeezing it to let him know he wasn't alone. It was then that Rob's eyes fluttered open.

Mark took in a deep, gasping breath as those familiar green eyes flickered around the room without seeming to see anything.

"You're okay, Rob," Mark said, hoping his voice would calm his friend. But instead it seemed to agitate him further. Rob's breathing became harsher and his head began almost to thrash until Mark feared he was having another seizure. He reached out for the call button, but in between one second and the next, it seemed that Rob finally worked out where he was. Or at least who was with him.

"Mark?" he said, pulling off the oxygen mask as he spoke. His voice was quieter than Mark had ever heard it before. Rob didn't generally do quiet, and that scared Mark more than his still laboured breathing.

"I'm here, Rob," Mark said. He leaned in and caressed Rob's forehead with his palm. "I'll always be here for you."

And then Robert Peter Williams began to cry.

Mark held his hand and kissed his forehead and let him cry. He didn't shed a tear himself. He knew it wasn't the time for that. It was time for him to be strong for Rob. For them all.

Rob cried for a long time, tears and snot streaming down his face, clutching Mark's hand as if it was his one connection to the world, his lifeline. As the sky outside turned black and the stars came out, his sobbing finally slowed and the tears stopped.

"I fucked up," Rob said, his face buried in the crook of Mark's neck.

"Yeah." Mark wasn't going to deny it. Denying the truth of what Rob was going through had killed him the first time around.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry." Mark pulled back and looked at Rob, and made sure that Rob was looking at him. "You need to not do it again. And to do that, you need help. You know that, don't you?"

Rob didn't answer, but turned away from Mark. He gently took hold of Rob's chin and made him face him once again.

"You need help," he said, more insistent this time. If he couldn't make Rob face the truth, face what he was doing to himself, it was all going to happen again.

Rob stared at him a long time, his eyes full of fear and shame, until Mark almost despaired of him doing what he had to. But finally he closed his eyes, and squeezed Mark's hand back, and nodded. The sense of relief Mark felt made him take a deep breath. But there was one more thing Rob needed to do, and sooner rather than later.

"You need to leave the band, Rob."

Rob's eyes opened wide, and Mark could see the panic in them.

"I can't, Mark." He shook his head and Mark could feel the tremors in his hand. "The band's all I've got. _You're_ all I've got, you and the others."

"The band is killing you, Rob. Will kill you, if you let it." He willed Rob to listen. "I know what it does to you, listening to Nigel's shit all the time, being told you're not good enough. You're a brilliant, lovely person, and if you don't break free of all this, you're never going to believe that."

He could see Rob thinking about what he'd said, could see him considering his options.

"It doesn't mean you'll lose us." Mark pressed his point. "It doesn't mean you'll lose me. I'll always be here for you."

"Life without Nigel," Rob whispered. "That would be something, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah," Mark said. "Yeah, it would."

Rob smiled then, one of his cheeky chappy grins, and Mark knew at that moment that everything would be alright. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't be nice, but Rob would make it.

He leaned in close, meaning to kiss Rob on the forehead, but managing to kiss him on the lips. But somehow it wasn't awkward, and it wasn't weird. It was right and it was perfect.

"Sleep with me," Rob said, pulling on Mark's hand. "I don't mean shag," he added quickly. "I don't think I'll be up for that for a while. I just mean, sleep." He gave Mark a ghost of his usual cheeky smile. "We can shag later."

Mark astounded himself by laughing, and made a note to take Rob up on his offer later, much later, when Rob was healthy and well. Somehow he managed to drop the bars on the side of Rob's bed without letting go of his hand. Rob slid back and Mark slipped into bed beside him, wrapping one arm around Rob's chest, even while he took care not to jostle any tubes or wires.

Rob kept his eyes open until Mark was nestled in beside him, but then his energy seemed to flag and his eyes drifted closed. As Mark watched, his body relaxed and his breathing deepened and within seconds he was asleep. A deep, healing sleep, not the drugged unconsciousness he'd been in before.

Mark felt his own eyes grow heavy. And no wonder. He'd gone the better part of two days with no more sleep than what he'd stolen sitting in uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs. As he drifted into sleep himself, he wondered what the nurses would think when they found them like this, even as he realized he didn't give a toss.

* * *

  
Mark drifted up from the depths of sleep knowing there was something wrong. It was too quiet for a start. There was no beeping of the heart monitor, no murmuring coming from the nurses' station. There was no smell of disinfectant. The mattress beneath him was more comfortable than he remembered Rob's lumpy hospital-issued one being.

He sighed sleepily and reached out a hand for Rob, and found nothing and no one beside him.

"Rob?" He sat up, wide awake in an instant, and found himself not in Rob's hospital room, but alone in his hotel room. His hotel room in the present. In 2005.

"No, no, no, no, no." For the second time in two days, he felt the blood drain from his face, felt as if the world was tipping, threatening to throw him off.

He couldn't be back here again, couldn't be back in a world where Rob was dead and he felt half-dead himself. What he'd experienced couldn't just have been a dream or a wish-fulfilling fantasy.

He felt like he was going to be sick. Horribly and utterly sick.

He put his feet on the floor, his head between tracksuit-bottom clad knees, and took several long, deep breaths, even as he wondered what the fuck was going on. If it had all been a dream, why had his subconscious decided to torment him with the thought of what might have been? And if it had been somehow real, why send him to the past only to wrench him forward to this horrible present where he'd once again lost the only person he'd ever loved?

He clenched his eyes tightly shut as he thought that it just wasn't fucking fair and was contemplating how much damage he could do to himself if he got stuck into the mini-bar, when there was a banging on the door.

"Go away," he whispered, not wanting to deal with well-meaning Jason or anyone else in the band or their entourage.

Whoever was on the other side of the door wasn't about to be put off by a lack of response, and banged on the door again. Actually, it sounded like more of a kick.

"Go away," Mark said, louder this time. He didn't want to be shaken out of his misery, didn't want to have to deal with other people.

"C'mon, Markie! My hands are full and I've forgotten my key card."

Without realizing he'd moved, Mark found himself at the door and throwing it open. Rob stood on the other side, his hands full of crisp packets and cans of pop, one foot poised to kick the door again.

"It's about time, Mark," Rob said. "My arms are about to-"

Mark didn't let him finish the sentence. He knocked every last bag of crisps, every can of pop out of his hands and grabbed Rob in the strongest embrace he could manage. He held Rob tight and breathed in the scent of him, the realness of him. Then before Rob could say anything else, he stretched as tall as he could and kissed him.

Rob tasted of morning breath and cigarettes and orange juice and love. Mark deepened the kiss, wanting to prove to himself that Rob was alive and real and here with him.

As he kissed Rob, he felt two sets of memories begin to resolve in his mind. There were the old memories, the bad ones, the ones that had left him broken. And then there were new ones. Ones where Rob didn't die in Vienna. Ones where he left the band and went to rehab and sorted himself out. Ones where the band broke up before a final tour and there was more unpleasantness with Nigel than he'd thought possible. Ones where the wilderness years weren't quite so wild or quite so hard.

Ones where Rob was a pop superstar, but not above joining his old band mates and current boyfriend on a 10th anniversary reunion tour.

Finally, Mark ended the kiss and looked up at Rob, who stared down at him, a thoroughly gobsmacked expression on his face.

"Christ, Markie. If I knew I was going to get this sort of reception, I'd run out for crisps more often."

"Knob," Mark said, giving Rob a good swat on the arm, though more to hide the tears he could feel forming in his eyes than because he was at all cross.

"C'mere," Rob said, and drew him back into his arms, even as he moved them out of the hall and into their room, kicking the door shut behind them, leaving his crisps on the floor behind. They stood like that for several long minutes, Rob with his arms protectively around Mark, and Mark with his face nuzzled into Rob's chest, memorizing exactly how this moment felt, the perfection of it.

"Maybe Jason was right," Rob said quietly, breaking the silence of the room. "Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come back here." He kissed the top of Mark's head. "Too many bad memories in this place."

"No," Mark insisted, holding Rob even tighter. "It _was_ a good idea." He stood on his toes and kissed Rob again, a hot deep kiss meant to tell Rob exactly how much he was loved. Then he pulled back and looked at Rob, feeling both the happiest he'd ever felt, and the most serious.

"It was," Mark said, "the best idea I've ever had in my life."


End file.
